


American Pie

by PaxieAmor



Series: I Know That You're In Love With Him [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: It's also slightly Carole's fault, M/M, Okay not all, This is all Marty's Fault, You May Want Tissues On Hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxieAmor/pseuds/PaxieAmor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things had gone horribly, <i>horribly</i> wrong...</p>
            </blockquote>





	American Pie

**Author's Note:**

> So, there is a huge story behind this one.
> 
> It started when my buddy Carole linked me to [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BY2TskVxoek) of Jeremy Renner singing "American Pie" from the movie _Love Comes to the Executioner_. 
> 
> I showed this video to Marty, whom we can already blame for the [Avengelock](http://archiveofourown.org/series/16203) series, and that lead to [this whole crazy conversation on tumblr](http://agentpaxieamor.tumblr.com/post/20481376232/letmartyhandlethis-paxieamor).
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

“Did you write the book of love and do you believe in God above?”

Clint Barton was dressed in a ratty blue jumpsuit, short sleeved and full of holes. He was scruffy and dirty and felt completely disgusting, but he sang out those words like he was a rock star as he walked down the hallway. He was being escorted by three men, two of which were taller than him and the third was definitely bigger around. His wrists were shackled to a chain around his waist and his ankles were chained together with just enough slack for him to walk.

“If the bible tells you so…”

He was in a prison in Afghanistan; he’d been there for a month and was scheduled to be executed. He and Natasha had been on assignment and things had gone wrong, horribly wrong. Natasha had been wounded and Clint let himself be captured so that she would have a better chance to make their rendezvous. He was convicted without a trial, sentenced to death without a last meal… all he would get out of this was his last song, and he was going to sing it loud.

“Now do you believe in rock and roll,” he sang out, giving the one finger salute to the inmates on either side of him as he was urged down the hall towards a far wall with a single door. “Can music save your mortal soul… and can you teach me how to dance…” He turned towards one of the guards, the tallest who was wearing a three piece suit, and leaned against him. “Real slow?” He ended up grinding against the man’s leg, because what else was he going to do in this situation?

Anything to stall, _anything_ to keep himself from having to walk through that door.

He laughed as all three guards pulled or pushed him away from the suit, shoving him towards that door, that dark door… but he didn’t stop singing his song, he didn’t stop singing it with every ounce of his heart and soul with a smile on his face.

“Well, I know that you’re in love with him and I saw you dancing in the gym! You both kicked off your shoes; Man I dig those rhythm and blues!”

Clint couldn’t help thinking of Coulson when he sang those lines, couldn’t help remembering the night before he left for this mission. They had gone to dinner together, there was dancing. It wasn’t the song he was singing, it was some sad, slow song about rain or songs about rain or some damn thing. Phil was in his arms, he was nuzzling the agent’s neck and promising to come home as soon as possible.

But he wasn’t going to keep that promise. Clint was at that door, the lone door at the end of that hallway. He knew what was going to happen to him next; he was going to go through that door and he was going to keep singing.

“I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck!” He kicked the door with his heel for good measure. “With a pink carnation and a pick-up truck!”

His enthusiasm faltered when he saw the table. The table they were going strap him down to while they injected chemicals into his arm and then proceed to watch him die.

“But I knew I was out of luck… the day the music died…”

They placed the straps across his legs, his arms, his chest… Clint could feel tears forming in the corners of his eyes, could feel the words of his song getting caught in his throat. They weren’t going to make it in time… _Phil_ wasn’t going to make it in time.

“I started singin'…” Clint closed his eyes, allowing the tears to stream down his cheeks. “Bye, bye Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry… them good ole boys were drinking whiskey in Rye, singin' this'll be the day that I die.” His throat was completely dry, his words crackling as he sang them. “This'll be the day that I die…”

One of the guards around him had suddenly yelled out in pain; Clint’s eyes snapped open just as the room went completely dark. He lay perfectly still as he heard absolute chaos happening around him, not daring to move an inch, even if he had been able to. A moment later, he felt hands on him, tearing the straps away and pulling him to his feet.

“Come on!” Clint’s eyes widened; he knew that voice anywhere.

“Phil…”

“Barton, we’ve got to _move_!” Clint didn’t say another word as he was pulled out of the room by his arm. He could hear the inmates yelling at them as he ran, but he blocked them all out; he was focusing on Phil and Phil alone… the man who had come to save him…

They were aboard the QuinJet moments later, in the air and on their way seconds after that. There was some harmless ribbing from Tony (“If you wanted to know what it was like to be a prisoner in Afghanistan, you could have just asked me”), followed by a check-up by medical. After that, he was allowed to go to the showers to clean up.

He just sat in the room for ages, thinking about how close that had been. Even a half-second later would have meant his death and he knew that… and he couldn’t shake the feeling of utter dread he’d had just before Phil got him out.

“You’re supposed to be cleaning up.” Phil’s voice wasn’t its normal monotone; there was worry there, remorse.

“I’ve been in prison for a while,” he joked as best he could. “Still a little leery of showers.” Phil nodded once before he sat down beside him.  They were silent for a moment; Clint didn’t know what to say next and he assumed Phil didn’t either.

“You honestly thought I was going to leave you there.” It wasn’t a question and Clint didn’t bother trying to act like it was or to try and deny it.

“I didn’t think you’d have a choice…” Phil flinched a little when he said that, his eyes narrowing slightly. Before Clint could say anything more, the senior agent pulled him close and kissed him hard. Phil ran his fingers through Clint’s longer than normal hair, his other hand on the back of his neck and oh, how good it felt, Clint thought, to be kissed so thoroughly after thinking he was never going to be kissed at all, ever again.

“You are _always_ my choice,” Phil informed him when he broke the kiss. Clint looked into his steel grey eyes and smiled.

And then, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do with that knowledge, he kissed him again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Pink Carnation and a Pick-Up Truck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/378574) by [PaxieAmor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxieAmor/pseuds/PaxieAmor)




End file.
